Just A Whisper
by forensicirulan
Summary: Five occasions Helen Magnus retreated to a simple whisper.  Instead of gently screaming her head off from frustration.


**One.**

Her heart was beating so hard she thought it would break out of her ribcage and jump right in front of her on the table and mess everything up.

Check. Double check.

Fingers trembling.

"_I did it_", she beamed at him when she could finally tear her eyes from her gold-wooden wonder microscope. "_I managed to derive a core serum from the Sangvin Vampiris, John_".

He stepped away from the blackboard to stare at her shy and excited smile for a minute.

She did it.

There was a grin on his face as he manoeuvred closer to her, one of those that couldn't be wiped off by the most aggressive of maids possessing a mop.

When he cupped her face to kiss her, he was still smiling, and he very nearly started laughing during their battle of tongues from the adrenaline rushing through his body.

She was a genius, and she was his and they were really going to do this, to hell with conventions.

They did both chuckle when they pulled away. Then, blushing gently, returned to their work.

**Two.**

He stepped closer to her, carefully examining her features, making sure he wasn't getting her into something she wasn't completely sure about.

His head was spinning from her perfectly shaped body standing in front of him. Neck, uncovered. Ankles, with the fairest skin he has ever seen, exposed; the most brilliantly shaped, long legs finally unhidden.

He had to close his eyes and breathe deeply to be able to concentrate, but all that filled his lungs was her scent, her molecules filling his nose and instantly filling his body with an overwhelming feeling of love and yearning.

Her pulse point was not raggedly jumping at her nape and her chest was not heaving under her night gown which hid her perfectly freckled breasts he couldn't stop being amazed by.

She took a step closer then, slender limbs swaying like a panther, and beamed up at him with the trust of a child.

Carnal sin and pure innocence embodied.

"_I'm ready, John_" leaning closer, she whispered. "_Take me to bed, please?_"

**Three.**

The very first thing that caught her eye was the light of the streetlamps reflecting on the contents of the box.

For a mere second, she contemplated the idea of it being a strange artefact, maybe one capable of storing light or warmth, or maybe covered in -

Oh.

A ring.

She stared into his eyes, words caught on her lip, under her lashes and in her ribcage, incapable of escaping.

He never looked away, not for a minute, holding on to her eyes for dear life. As if looking away could have meant jumping and falling, as if that could have broken a spell, letting their feelings play tag and get all mixed up.

Would she like to truly like to spend all of eternity with him? Would she -

Laughter.

It fell from her lips like it was the more natural than breathing, like it was all she was born for.

"_Yes_". A whisper.

Redemption.

**Four.**

She is thrown on her bed, her chemise torn open and skirt ripped off. Her tights are ruined, bruises steaming it red and burgundy, one strap of her bra slips off her shoulder and lets her breast uncovered, her freckled body completely open for assault.

She is defeated.

He leans over her like a predator sniffing its prey. His blade gently slips over her throat, hard enough to make her feel but light enough to not draw blood.

His knees kick her legs open and he sits on her chest, holding her in place.

She can't scream more, she lacks the energy, and doesn't know what or how else to shout at him to make him stop.

He broke her, finally.

She was foolish enough to never think he would actually do this, abuse her, torture her physically. Her John, never.

Her heart thugs and pulls and she feels like dying would be better than seeing him like this, with no love towards her, only hatred and rancour and bloodlust and the craving to hurt.

She closes her eyes, only for a second, but a tear escapes and her breath hitches. When she opens her eyes, she sees the perverse satisfaction in his eyes, but his smile is truly bitter and she wonders if there's any of her John left under the mask.

She swallows, and does the only other thing she never thought she would.

"_John, please don't do this._"

She begs.

**Five.**

They get on well, Will and Kate. She tends to mock him in a different way then she does with Henry and she catches up on it, paying more attention to them every time she sees a shift in their behaviour - profiles them, if you will.

She watches, studies, listens, relishing in watching their bond unfold and never says a word.

She just smiles.

She likes young lovers and their carelessness. She likes the innocence of those relationship because they remind her of good times when she was yet sinless and happily naive.

She watches them working together in the library, particularly close and particularly tired, and she wonders if their walls are going to slip soon. He buries his head in his palms, hers following the movement with sliding on his shoulders reassuringly. She keeps her eyes on the book they are studying, always on task, always on top of things.

She suddenly hits him on the shoulder and he jumps up angrily, but she's bouncing up and down, explaining something frantically and pointing at something in the book.

His mouth gapes at the manuscript and then at her, and he suddenly starts to smile and pulls her into a hug that lifts her off the ground.

When he puts her down, and they both blush. She tries to come up with something to say that will shift the subject and paddles about the book, swallowing. She only looks up a few seconds later, and he's still smiling at her, his hands in his pockets.

They keep on smiling.

Helen feels a hand slip on her own shoulder and suddenly turns around, extremely embarrassed to have been caught eavesdropping.

He steps next to her, making his own observations about the couple. He doesn't look at her yet, but his hand lowers and slips into hers, while she just stands there, shocked.

He doesn't say a word. He wouldn't. There's nothing he can say, really, so he just turns to her, and gives a gentle tug to her hands.

Her mouth opens but she doesn't pull away or move so much as a millimetre. She stares at him with the sadness of someone who has lived a million lives yet never got it right and his heart breaks to see her like this. He draws her to him very gently, fondling her head on his chest and letting her hands grip his shirt.

She trembles.

He hears her weeping gently a second later, her breath stuck in her lungs with a sob escaping instead and he holds her closer, her sudden loss of keeping distance stunning him.

He hears her mutter "_I do not want to die just yet_" between sobs.

He can't help but let his own eyes shut to the unexpected rush of tears.


End file.
